Suits: A Lawyer Surviving TV Chaos

 Since Martin didn't have a car, he hitched a ride in Harvey Specter's Lincoln back to Pearson & Hardman's Manhattan headquarters. 

Navigating through colleagues' congratulations, he finally collapsed into his modest office. Chugging a water bottle and loosening his tie, he exhaled deeply. His first trial in this new world—*victory*. 

In his past life, Martin had been a lowly legal assistant, drowning in paperwork like Brooklyn Nine-Nine's Jake Peralta . Who knew a single case could generate mountains of files? 

Reborn this time as a blond American, Martin clung to his dream: become a top-tier lawyer. Partly for ambition, partly because top U.S. attorneys earned *stupid* money. 

Thanks to his fused soul, Martin now wielded photographic memory—legal codes once impossible to memorize now stuck like glue. This gift propelled him through high school graduation at 16, a Harvard history degree (law schools require undergrad prerequisites), then a JD and JSD from Harvard Law. A UN legal internship later, he'd landed at Pearson & Hardman—one of the nation's "Big Four" firms, where every lawyer graduated from Harvard and clients included 40+ Fortune 500 companies. 

Pearson & Hardman's starting salary for JSDs? $330K annually, with a $30K yearly bump. Next year: $360K. Plus $400/hr consulting fees—*all his*. He daydreamed about splurging his first paycheck on a Porsche 911 or Dodge Challenger. 

A shadow fell across his doorway. 

"Post-adrenaline crash?" 

Martin turned to see Jessica Pearson, the firm's founding partner—her name etched on the door—leaning against the glass with a smirk. 

He leapt up, straightening his tie. "Ms. Pearson! I Could've come to your office—" 

"Jessica." She waved him off, settling onto his sofa. "Harvey's never raved about a rookie before. That alone warranted a visit." 

"Harvey *raved*?" Martin nearly spilled the water he offered. In *Suits*, Harvey Specter praised no one. 

"Trust me," Jessica said, accepting the glass. "In 10 years, you're the first to earn his A+. Hence, I'm fast-tracking your client access. Let's Skip the six-month probation." 

Martin nodded. Like sales, lawyering required hustling for clients. Firm handouts were scraps—real money came from wooing CEOs and hedge funds. 

"Also," Jessica gestured at his barren walls, "spruce this up. Hit Admin for art—actual gallery pieces, not prints. Clients expect… *taste*." 

As she rose, she added, "Oh, and assemble your team. All senior attorneys get an associate. Harvey's picking from Harvard's new JD grads next week. Join him. And a secretary—want someone specific?" 

Martin's mind flashed to *Suits*' brilliant-but-fraudulent Mike Ross. *Let Harvey handle that mess.* Then: "Rachel. Rachel Zane." 

Jessica raised an eyebrow. "Our best paralegal? No law degree, but she's a filing savant. I'll talk to her." 

Martin suppressed a grin. In his past life, Rachel or Meghan markle had charmed a British prince into marriage. Now, *he'd* have the duchess-to-be as his secretary. 

---